


Fireflies and Freedoms

by SarcasmFish (Alcyonidae)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character building, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 18:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyonidae/pseuds/SarcasmFish
Summary: Cullen tracks a phantom figure sneaking its way through their camp at Haven.  With sword drawn, the person he encounters is not who he was expecting.





	Fireflies and Freedoms

He was up late again, a pen gripped between trembling fingers, forehead held up by a sweating hand.  The camp around him was blessedly silent.  He squinted, forcing the letters into view each time they swam and blurred in his vision.  He would need to rewrite this correspondence in the morning when his hands did not cause the words to shake and slant.  There were smudges from clumsy fingers obscuring some of the words.

A sigh left his lips, deep and weary.  He capped the inkwell and blotted the tip of the pen clean of remaining ink.

The items laid out on his desk mocked him.  _Look how we rest.  Look how we function without fail.  Look how useful we are.  We do not betray you.  It is you that betrays you.  Your aging body wears away while we press on the same as when we were new._

He raised an arm in fury, to brush the items from the surface, to send them tumbling to the ground below, but held himself back.  It would do no good to cause a mess he would be forced to explain.  He felt a rumbled growl leave his lips.  He must be truly exhausted to be mocked by inanimate objects.

A light bobbed and bounced outside of his tent.  It was a faint and distant glow, but distracted him from his inner war.  It could have been a passing patrol light, except for the color.  It was a warming, steady blue, not the erratic dance of orange torchlight.

An attack?  Assassin?  Unlikely, but it gave him purpose, a reason to be awake.  And he would not let something slip by and destroy his work before it had scarcely begun.

He belted a sword around his waist again and pulled a heavy woolen cloak over his shoulders.

The night was all bitter winds and threats of even more snow.  The moons above him were only partially in the sky, the rest of them cloaked in absent darkness.  They cast a weak light that would have led him into nug holes and thickets if he did not know these grounds outside of Haven so well.

He crept along behind the lively glow of light.  It was too far ahead in the line of trees around the frozen lake to see what exactly he was following.  Was it a person?  A demon?  Darkspawn?  His tired imagination spun fairy tales in a mind too drained to correct it back to reality.

At times the light paused and remained still, as if it had landed upon a tree branch to perch.  Once it extinguished entirely and he worried he had been discovered or lost the trail.  He sat crouched behind a bush for what seemed like hours to his weary knees.  They crackled and ached as he pushed forward again when the glow returned.

The light was moving slower now and he wondered if it was nearing its intended destination or if the snowfall was impeding its travel.

He drew his sword, slow to keep the ring of steel from traveling through the snow dampened air.   He inched closer, testing the weight of the sword in his hand; a practiced spin of the hilt so familiar and grounding to his spirit.

Through the break in the brush he could now make out a figure.  The light swirled around it like an overeager mabari, but it was shrouded in a voluminous cloak that swallowed its details.  He could not even tell if the figure before him was human or monster.

He timed his steps with those of the assailant in front of him to disguise them in the crunch of snow.

With only yards between them he rushed forward, sword held at the ready.

“Halt!” he snarl the threat into the crisp night.  “Show yourself at once!”

The figure spun, a shriek of fright sending it sprawling backwards into the snow.  The light that had been accompanying them popped in a fissure of light.  Little remnants of it drifted until the power within drained and winked out.  In that waning display he could make out the startled features of the Herald.

He relaxed at the familiar face, taking a few steps closer to ensure she had not been hurt.  The realization of familiarity had not struck her yet.  She took his advance as intent and attempted to scramble back, pushing herself back with her hands.  The snow hampered her movement, causing her to just sink down into it instead of move her backward.

“Herald…”  He tried to school the bark from his voice, taming it into something more benign.  “I apologize I saw only your light and did not know it was you.”

She was not looking at him, she was staring only at the sword still drawn in his hand, held to be used.  He moved to sheath it and she flinched, turning her face away as if awaiting an expected blow.

The exhaustion he had been fighting so hard to keep away washed over him like a briny wave.  He had not felt so close to giving up in so long a time.  But right now, standing over a frightened mage with a sword in his hand brought back all of the miseries he ran from each night when shutting his eyes.  He wished he had not brought the thing, though he knew if he could step back in time and make the choice again he would find it still firm in his grip.

The sword was heavy in his hand.  That familiar, comfortable feeling was suddenly so alien and wrong. 

Instead of returning it to the scabbard at his waist he turned and tossed it point down into the snow behind him.  It remained upright in the snowbank like some sharp and shinning flower.

He turned back and offered his hand to the Herald.  She was watching him.  The fright was gone and replaced with questions behind her eyes.  What was he planning?  What was his stake in this?  When would he reveal the Templar that lurked beneath?  When would he hurt her?

“Forgive me.”

He kept his gloved hand extended to her, willing it not to shake.  He prepared himself for her to dismiss him, to chastise him, or send him away.  He had seen her turn of mood.  He had witnessed her don the mantle of nobility and use it like a sword to slice away at others. 

No.  A part of him wondered if she was not wielding it as a sword, but as a shield.  Perhaps she used it to keep others away, to protect herself from them getting too close and seeing too much of the vulnerable Circle mage veiled below noble aloofness.

How much they had in common then.

She reached out and placed her hand within his.  He pulled her to her feet.  She was light.  Cassandra had remarked with enthusiasm that the Herald had displayed unexpected skill in combat for a sheltered Circle mage, but she was still pale and thin from captivity.  Their endeavor to seal the Breach would change that quickly.

She brushed the snow from her clothing.  The cloak around her shoulders was thin and ill chosen.  He watched the emotions war on her face, indignation, anger, and fear.  She fidgeted with the clasp on the cloak and then hugged her arms around her, eyes fixing on the sword behind him.

He tugged on a glove where a bit of snow had slid down his wrist, hoping the Herald might speak.  She did not make eye contact, as if he might forget about her and leave if she did not acknowledge him.

“Why are you out here so late?”  He winced after the words left his mouth.  They sounded too much like a Templar’s interrogation and not a conversational question.

He saw a flash of umbrage cross her expression before it melted away under that docile mask.

“I… I wanted to sneak away.”  Her words were soft like the snowflakes around them.  They were flat and held little emotion.

His expression softened, shoulders sagging a bit under the weight of her words.  He should have been angry with her, angry that she wanted to shirk her duty and doom them all.  But how miserable and alone she looked then.  He could not fault her.  He was guilty of similar thoughts.

“You wanted to run away?”  There was no accusation in his question.

She shook her head.  “No... No, not run away.”  She shook her head again as if it could impart her sincerity and then sighed.  “I just….”  She looked away from him and out over the frozen lake.  “I just wanted to sneak away.”

Her arms crossed in front of her, posture stiff and closed, but he could see shivers building in her insufficiently clothed frame.

“Why?” he found himself asking.  He should not pry.  He should let her do as she wished.  She was free.  But the word slipped out before he could consider its weight.

“I wanted to know what it would be like.”  She shrugged a shoulder, looking up into the trees and the snow and anywhere but his face.  “I’m sorry.  It was stupid.”

Such an innocent desire.  It was his turn to avoid her gaze.  He felt as if he were holding a sword to her again.

He gave a brief nod, intending to turn away and slink back to his bedroll when she spoke again.

“I thought I might look for fireflies.  But I haven’t seen any.”

“Oh,” he tried to clear how constricted his throat had grown, how worn and numb his lips felt.  “I don’t think you’d find them until summer.”

Her shoulders drooped for a moment before she squared them up again.  “I suppose I should go back then.”

He felt his aching fingers curl into fists.  Why did he feel as if it were his fault there were no fireflies until summer?  Why did he feel like he was disappointing her?

Before she could brush past him he spoke, forcing the words from his mouth.  “I think that… there might be an owl.”

She stopped, closer to him than she had ever stood before.  He could have reached out to sweep her bangs back from her eyes.  He could have plucked the tiny snowflakes standing so stark against her dark hair.  Luckily, his fingers were too twisted by pain to get him into trouble with such traitorous thoughts.

A cautious curiosity built up in her eyes, it spurred him forward, let him leave the awkward stutter behind.

“I can hear it from my tent.  It must be in the woods nearby and flying over to hunt.”

“An owl?”

“We could go and look for it.”

A shadow crossed over her expression, just the smallest flicker before she pulled on that mask of nobility again.

We.  He had said we.  Had he really expected her to want him traipsing after her, breathing down her neck and monitoring her every action?  This was her adventure after all.  She was free now and needed to experience it.

He pulled the wool cloak from his shoulders and passed it to her.  She stared at it and then at him before another shiver made her pull it on.

“The woods nearby you said?”

He gave her a nod.

She stood watching him, as if waiting for him to change his mind and admonish her.

“You can go wherever you please, Herald,” he finally supplied to allay her unspoken concerns.  “Just be careful and safe.”

A part of his mind screamed out at him, attempting to remind him that he was sending a Circle mage out into the woods alone.  Every part of the plan smelled of folly, she could run, she could be killed, she could be captured.  Their one weapon against the Breach and he was sending her off into the snow in the middle of the night.

She seemed to be weighing similar concerns in her own mind.  She looked over his shoulder, deeper into the woods and then back up at him.  He could not help but notice the small glance she attempted to disguise at the sword still embedded into the snow behind him.

“Will you show me?”  The question was nearly lost as the wind tossed the hair resting on her shoulders.

He stammered a moment, thrown by her change in demeanor.  She wanted him along now?

He straightened.  Escort.  This he could do.

With a gentle smile he offered her his arm.  It was a risk.  There was a high chance she would consider this over stepping a valuable boundary between them.  He hoped she would accept so he could keep her from tumbling into the snow or getting lost.

She moved automatically to slip her hand around his arm, but caught herself.  It hung there in the frigid air collecting snowflakes.  He could see the war of will written in her eyes and it twisted in his gut.  He hated that flicker of fear and an irrational part of his mind wanted to track down its source.  A whisper questioned if he really wanted to know.

He wished he could give her some assurance.  He wished he could make some offering or gesture to convince her of his honest intentions.  Instead he stood, frozen in place and waiting for her to surmount this beast in her path.

Her eyes flickered up to his and he worked to keep his features soft and reassuring.  He tried to school away any reflections of his own worry of rejection.

She closed the distance between them, slipping her hand into place at the corner of his elbow.  He kept the required distance from her, following every rule of decorum he had been instilled with in training.  A quiet worry wondered if there might be some hidden custom for nobles he might trip up on.  He could feel the weight of her using his forearm to help her traverse the knee deep snow and it gave him the confidence to continue.

He felt her hesitate as they neared the sword he had thrown into the snow, eyes cutting across it and then up to him.  The dig of her fingers into his arm lifted, as if she were going to pull away.

He kept his chin up, not sparing a glance as they passed and she remained, stepping a little closer to his side when the snow drifts grew too deep.  He staggered in one, nearly spilling them both into the snow and was rewarded with her laughter.

He could fetch the sword in the morning.


End file.
